


an armchair before the fire

by manbunjon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Lust, Mutual Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-14 20:10:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17515193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manbunjon/pseuds/manbunjon
Summary: It's not cheating if they don't touch each other....right?





	an armchair before the fire

"We are not cheating." Sansa had insisted. She had been panting, her chest heaving with the breathlessness of the exertion such an act had brought on. The apples of her cheeks had flushed, as bright a red as the hair she had unpinned from its long plait so it could fall loose about her shoulders, as they both knew he liked best. 

"Not really.” she had continued bravely. She had touched his palm, just for a moment, pressing lightly to his fingers before withdrawing, his hand now so starkly empty and unfulfilled that he wished she had never touched him at all. “Not if we aren't touching." 

Jon had had to agree, nodding along. He would have agreed to anything and everything she had suggested then. Seven hells, he would have given her King’s Landing if she had suggested it then. 

With a very, very embarrassingly little amount of coaxing Jon had coalesced, succumbing to her wanton words as he knew he would. He found himself lying on the flat of his back in the large featherbed that he had earlier tried to coax her into, with the love of his life sitting in an armchair that had been pulled up beside the fire, and he was stroking his cock, as unencumbered and carefree as if he were a boy of eleven winters again. 

Even with her knees hooked over each arm of the leather backed chair and her legs spread nearly as far as they would go, Jon thought Sansa might as well have sat upon a throne instead of an armchair, for how monarchial she sat. 

She let out a small gasp, as though surprised by her own wantonness, as her fingers dipped between her thighs so that she was touching herself before him. Touching herself _for_ him. It was enough to drive even the sanest man in Westeros mad with desire. 

When Sansa had first proposed the idea Jon had choked on the ale he had just poured from the flagon, sending it rocketing back up his nose and spilling down his chin in foaming rivulets. He had laughed then, but, upon seeing the intensity in her eye and the determined set of her chin, the laugher had evaporated and the idea had suddenly seemed less ribald and more...arousing. 

"I do think it is a good idea." said Sansa, looking at him over her shoulder. She continued to brush out her hair, letting the mother-of-pearl pins fall onto the vanity one by one. "I mean...I think we should consider it seriously."

"But-" Jon began, so completely overcome with want and lust and heat at the idea that for a moment he had barely been able to string together a pair of words, let alone post a cohesive detraction. "It-" 

As though reading his mind Sansa had turned and approached him, looking up at him with the same sweet, sylphish gaze that so often made him absolute putty in her hands. She dropped her hands to her lap, letting her fingers tease absently at the waistband of his breeches, soft fingertips tracing the thin leather laces with a wistful smile. 

"It isn’t cheating if we don't touch each other." said she, as casually as if she were commenting on the makeup of their supper. She cocked her head to the side lazily and let a curtain if red fire sweep across her neck, still smelling of the sweet soaps she had brushed through it. He could see the small mark beneath her ear that his lips had made earlier, though now it felt like a lifetime ago since his mouth was on her. 

She let her question sink in a moment before continuing, "Right?"

With that logic, Jon had to agree. "Yes." he began, measuring his words for potential pitfalls. "I mean no! No, it's not cheating. It's...it's...Well it's quite appealing actually. The thought if having you that way."

She let her hands run across the lapels of his tunic as she smoothed it down. For a moment Jon wondered if he could burst into flames just from touch alone. 

"I think so too." she said archly. "Jon, you said it yourself. You have not been touched in two weeks—" It was three but he did not dare correct her. "I know you want to touch me...to be touched." 

Her eyes raked down his body with rueful slowness before settling on the cock that betrayed him by pushing at the laces of his breeches. She slipped her hand beneath his tunic to press her palm against his side, ever so slightly allowing her fingers to ghost across his cock. 

She took hold of his ear between her teeth and bit down lightly, whispering: "I know you want to, Jon. I can _feel_ it." 

Jon groaned. He had spent many, many, many days mulling it over in his head, letting his hands drag over his aching cock as he thought about kissing her, touching her, spreading her legs and kissing her sweet, wet cunt until she was rippling beneath him, as though she were the last sweet fruit in all the Seven Kingdoms. 

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, gritting his teeth. He had to be sure. There was already the possibility of being overcome by his own desire, he need not worry about her regret atop it. 

Sansa nodded more enthusiastically than he had ever seen and then blushed gracefully at her haste. "I'm sure, Jon." she promised him, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw and letting her nose nuzzle teasingly against the column of his throat.

She was, as ever, the lady, though her eyes held nothing but sin, watching as the muscles in his back worked as he pulled the armchair forward. She took his hand, looking suddenly earnest. "Are you? I won't pressure you into-"

Jon laughed. "I want this, Sansa." he said, taking her hands and squeezing them affectionately. He pressed a kiss to her temple. "I want more than anything in the world to touch you, sweet girl. It would take an army to stop me and perhaps not even then." 

She flushed prettily, sinking into the chair and kicking off her slippers. Jon laughed at her hurry and turned, hoping that he came across nonchalant as he began to undo the laces of his jerkin. For a moment he considered slipping off his engagement ring, but at the last moment decided against it, knowing the cool steel would feel sinfully enjoyable against his aching cock. 

When Jon turned back he found that Sansa awaited him, knowing quite well how he enjoyed to watch her undress, often regarding her with the same restless enthusiasm as one unwrapping a present. 

His stomach jolted with excitement at the realisation that she had already prepared for his capitulation and Jon could only watch helplessly as she pulled at the laces of her gown and let the lapels fall apart to reveal her naked, prone body lying dormant beneath.

Jon worked at the laces of his ever tightening breeches and hissed in relief, glad to be finally divested of the prison he had lashed himself into earlier in the day, before he had been so thoroughly seduced. 

Not caring that he must look green as grass in his desperation, Jon shoved his breeches to his ankles and kicked them off, and, before he could mentally talk himself out of what he had first allowed himself to be talked into, Jon Snow was touching himself. 

He shuddered, his belly trembling as he pulled his tunic over his head, revealing himself fully to the girl whose hot gaze made his skin shiver with pricks of gooseflesh. He stole a look at her and took a sharp breath. Sansa was bare as a babe, all long legs and fair flesh, and he ached to seize the pale fingers that slid along the moors of her form and press his lips to them. 

He wanted desperately to run his lips along the path her fingers were laying, to take each of her pert nipples between his lips and kiss them half a hundred times, to make sure to take the time and care that her body long deserved, until she was practically unraveling in his arms and he right beside her. 

The sight of the Lady of Winterfell, always so proper and chaste as she attended her duties in the great hall, now letting her fingers delve between her thighs was such a beautiful sight that Jon could almost feel his mouth water, thinking that he would never be able to forget such a lovely sight. 

Sansa watched with great interest as he began to touch himself, wondering if she would ever be able to recreate such long and languishing strokes as created by his own hand, her eyes following the way his knowing fingers rose to pinch and twist around the head of his cock, an illicit thrill running through her.

Heat swelled within her, her stomach twisting as she watched Jon work. She let her hands run over her breasts, watching as his breath hitched, and it made her smile, though her grin quickly faded at the utterance of Jon's first moan. 

"Gods." Jon swallowed, a dry lump springing into his throat at the sight of her. 

Jon watched as Sansa parted her thighs further to drape each leg over a different arm of the chair, offering a perfectly uninhibited view of her sweet, wet cunt. Gods, how he would love to prostrate himself on his knees before her and kiss her there, and never, never stop.

Her long, thin fingers stroked through her folds in somnolent bliss, finding the little bale of nerves his tongue so covetously wished to run across. Sansa offering a teasing wink, but Jon smiled to find a blush hidden behind it, and he could not help but grin, thinking that even now— even so proudly modeling the most private parts of herself for him—she was bashful. 

"Does this please you, Jon?" she asked.

He bobbed his head, swallowing hard. "It does." he said, noticing that they had fallen into the same unintentional rhythm, hands beginning to move at the same gentle, yet quickening pace. 

She was breathless. "Do you like what you see?"

A whine rose up from the back of his throat at the sight and she let out a soft moan of pure, ecstatic pleasure that made his stomach tremble with delectation. "I suppose that is yes?" said she, her voice picking up a teasing lilt.

He could have salivated. He was unable to pull his eyes away from the beautiful sight that shone between her legs, but when he finally did, Jon was rewarded with the sight of her thumb and forefinger seizing her nipple and pinching it unremittingly between them. 

"Jon." she moaned. It was unbearable, not to touch her. 

"Soon enough." Jon said. He wondered if this was all a dream, the sweetest dream he had ever had. If it were, he hoped it would repeat again tonight, driving him mad with the pleasure of it. "Soon enough, I'll have you, sweet girl. Really, have you."

She moaned in response to the words, her fingers delving lower, deeper, exploring her body with the same languid curiosity as she had the first time she had touched herself."I want to feel you, Jon." she said, her refrain of her voice high. "I want you inside of me. I want to-" he moaned pitifully, and then even louder upon seeing the blush colour her cheeks felicitously. "I want to feel your cock."

Jon cursed. He was nearly shaking with the effort of staving off his impending orgasm, the pleasure waiting to engulf him. "Gods, Jon." Sansa moaned, and the sound seemed to pierce through his belly like a blade. "I am...I'm close, Jon. _My_ Jon." 

She seemed to want his approval and Jon was only too happy to give it to her. "Me too, sweet girl." he agreed. "I want to hear you. I want to hear you as you come, sweet girl." 

It was all she needed. Her body went rigid upon the leather armchair, her fingers circling furiously, her eyes screwed tight in concentration. Her mouth hung open, a stream of knee-buckling moans escaping from her, and if Jon hadn't been close before, surely he would be now. 

"Gods, Sansa." Jon half shouted, as he spent into his palm like a green boy. 

For a moment their moans and pants mingled and came together, the sweetest music Jon had ever heard. He was glad that she had sent her guards away, for surely they would have come running at such a sound. 

"Are you sure we have to do this?" Jon asked, but he was too weak to do anything anyway. 

Sansa nodded, fastening the laces of her dress all too quickly, though he could still see the peaks of each firm nipple standing at attention just beneath the thin fabric. "Yes." she said. "It will make the wedding night all the more special."

She came to sit on the bed beside him and Jon nearly flinched, not in discomfort, but due to the almost unbearable closeness of her body and the almost uncontrollable desire that slid through him when standing in such close proximity of her. 

Sansa brushed the hair that had fallen into his face from and he reached up to catch her hand, the same one she had just pressed between her legs. He let his tongue lave over her fingers, suddenly so overcome with the temptation of having her, even just like this, that he hadn't been able to stop himself. 

Jon nodded, laying a kiss against the hollow of her palm. "Following this rate, I am not sure if I can make it that long." 

Sansa grinned, turning to rest her cheek against his hand. She kissed the criss-cross of scars that were indented against his fingers, Jon groaning softly as her tongue darted out to follow them. "Cannot make it until tomorrow?" she said, the lilt of her voice pleasant. 

Jon laughed heartily, carding his fingers through her crimson hair and kissing it. "Perhaps once more, than." he said with a nonchalant shrug. "Just to tide us over." Sansa was already moving back to her armchair. 


End file.
